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Uneasy Calm, Extra Stress and Reverse Psychology

It's dark and gloomy in Frog Pond Holler this morning. The rain is barely falling, a smidge more than a mist, just enough to make you turn your wipers on for the drive in and bright orange-brown oak leaves are blowing over the surface of the road, like a herd of skittish cattle, not sure of which way to go.

The natives are settling in for the winter here, loads of freshely split wood making their way up tiny dirt roads to hidden hollers where life is suspended in time.

It makes me thankful to have "real" heat, I don't miss hauling wood in through snow storms or trying to keep a fire going all night, but at the same time, I'm a little sad that those hidden hollers are slowly fading away.

I guess you can't have it both ways.

Here at the Asylum, Bossman has returned and he seems.. different. He's so calm, it's almost scary. It's not just me he's adjusted his attitude with, it's everyone in the office. It's sorta creepy.

Yesterday was noggin doc day, but I got stuck in traffic behind an accident in Big City and ended up 30 minuites late. When all was said and done, I ended up driving 2 hours to spend 30 minutes talking, then turn around and drive an hour back home.

This is supposed to be helping me reduce stress? I think not.

Anywho..

The other day Ma came into the kitchen with that "I'm fixin' to start some crazy talk so I can watch you freak out with frustration" look on her face, sat at the table and began.

"Who told you about you getting all the money from your Daddy's part of the sale of your Mamaw's house when he dies?" she asked.

"Umm.. I dunno.. who told YOU? It's the first I've heard of it."

"Well who have you been talking to about his estate when he dies?" she continued. She's like a pittbull when she's digging for information. She will not. Let. Go.

"I haven't been talking to anyone.. and even if I had been, I don't want that sonofabitch's money and if you don't shut up talking about him all the time, you're gonna start paying for my therapy AND my medication, got it?" I was proud of myself, I was calm, I didn't freak out but I managed to tell her what I thought. This is an accomplishment.

But she continued.. and it's crap like this that has me in therapy to begin with, "Well, when he does die and you get all that money (he doesn't have a pot to piss in, I dunno where she thinks all this money is coming from ) if you don't want it, you can let me have it, I'll take it."

"Fine," I said, "when I get "all that money" I'll sign it right over to you, kay?"

I relayed this story to the noggin doc yesterday, expecting her to say her ususal, "Well good for you!" or "Why do you think she keeps trying to upset you?" .... but no. The tiny, soft spoken noggin doc came up off her chair and said, "Oh no you will not, if there's any money you WILL take it. I'LL MAKE YOU."

The noggin doc gets a little excitable sometimes. I'm gonna need to not be the calm one during my therapy sessions.

I hope ya'll have a humpalicious Hump Day. I'm gonna go tackle the disorderly monstrosity that is my desk. It looks like a paper recycling bin took a big, steaming crap right in the middle.